


A Happy Ending

by Luka



Category: Primeval
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-08-10 01:07:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20126830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luka/pseuds/Luka
Summary: Nick and Stephen discuss their career options in the comfort of a Scottish croft.





	A Happy Ending

**Author's Note:**

> This is some fluff, set pre-series 1, and is very vaguely a sequel to After Rain, although you don't need to have read that to follow what's going on here.

"I think you deserve a medal," said Stephen, carefully negotiating the Hilux between an articulated lorry with German number plates and a little old dear pootling along in an ancient Metro.

"I'm glad someone finally recognises my talents." Nick polished an imaginary halo.

Stephen took one hand off the wheel briefly to flick him a V-sign. "The old Nick would have inserted Tommy Brooks's conference paper where the sun doesn't shine."

"That'll be Glasgow," offered Nick, breaking open a packet of polo mints and popping one into Stephen's mouth.

"Leeds, I think you'll find. So why did you let him off with just a public defrocking?"

Nick waggled his eyebrows. "It'll teach him to get his facts right. He always was a lazy little swine if he thought he could get away with it. People with a brain like his cutting corners makes me mad."

"I hadn't noticed," said Stephen mildly. "So you've got previous with him?"

"Yep. He was in my year at Edinburgh. He, me and Helen had this contest to see who'd be top of the year."

"And…?" Stephen was well-schooled now in not flinching when he heard Helen's name.

Nick looked smug for a moment. "Two-one to me, with Helen top in our second year. We all got firsts, but I won the faculty prize for highest marks in our final year."

"No one loves a smartarse…"

"Except you love me…"

"I do, although sometimes I wonder why!"

"Wit, charm and my reputation as a red-hot lover?"

"Oh, so that's what you call it."

"I've never had any complaints."

"And I haven't fallen under a bus. Yet."

"Not many buses around here," observed Nick, gazing out of the window at the Highlands scenery.

"Never mind that. I'm going to stop in Fort William. That B&B breakfast wouldn't keep a gnat alive."

"It was pretty stingy," agreed Nick. "Shame, as it used to be a splendid wee place when old Mrs McGregor ran it."

"I reckon her daughter and son-in-law are more interested in the chi-chi Edinburgh festival crowd. I mean, that lot might go for croissants, but for that price I expect a heart attack on a plate for breakfast."

"I promise to cook you one every day of the holiday," said Nick.

Stephen grinned, knowing damn well that it was a once in a blue moon treat for both of them. Nick was very much a tea and toast for breakfast man, whilst Stephen preferred cereal and fruit.

"Try there," suggested Nick, pointing to a small pub. "The food's not fancy, but it's fresh-cooked and there's plenty of it. And they do decent real ale."

"And I shall be able to partake, given you'll be driving the rest of the way." That was their holiday tradition – Stephen did the bulk of the driving, and then they swapped over for the final 50 miles on hairpin country lanes which Nick knew like the back of his hand.

Nick grimaced. "Don't remind me."

But they both knew how important the tradition was to him.

*~*~*~

"Not bad at all," said Stephen, scraping up the last mouthful of vegetable lasagne, then rapping Nick smartly over the knuckles with a teaspoon as he swiped the last chip from the shared dish.

"Dessert?"

"Oh, go on, then, seeing as you're paying. You'd better warn the barman that the moths and dust when you open your wallet will suffocate everyone at the bar."

Nick turned a sorrowful eye on him. "I'm much maligned. And it's a nasty bit of stereotyping that all Scotsmen are careful with their money."

Stephen mimed playing a violin. "I'll have the blackberry and apple crumble with custard, please. And another half of the Pigs' Bladder real ale while you're up there."

"What did your last slave die of?"

Stephen leaned back in his chair and grinned. "Disobedience."

Nick rolled his eyes and headed off to the bar. As he waited to be served, he watched Stephen, one of his favourite pastimes. 

Stephen, as always, seemed oblivious to the fact that half of the pub was staring none too subtly at him. Tight jeans and a close-fitting red teeshirt showed his gorgeous body off to perfection. And when he stretched and the teeshirt rode up, showing off several inches of flat, tanned stomach, the two young women at the next table missed their mouths and dribbled their glasses of wine down their fronts.

Stephen dug into his dessert with enthusiasm, and yet again Nick envied him his ability to enjoy his food, but to stay in shape still. He knew he'd got lazy about his own fitness routine. They'd go on some long walks while they were at the cottage.

"Time we pushed on now," said Nick, glancing at his watch. They still had 50 miles to go, and it wasn't a pleasant drive once it got dark.

Stephen nodded, grabbed his jacket, and they headed out to the car. Nick smiled as he noticed the sorrowful eyes following their progress.

*~*~*~

Stephen sat back and watched the stunning Highlands landscape with its vivid autumnal colours. It was at times like this that he wished he could paint. Last time they'd visited, he'd found a painting in a shop that encapsulated the scenery. Nick had been thrilled to bits to receive it as a Christmas present, and it now hung on the study wall at home.

"OK?" Nick put the Hilux into first gear as they ascended the steep track. They were almost at their destination.

"Fine."

"Good." Nick's accent was thickening already and the word came out as 'guid.' "A cup of tea and then a walk?"

Stephen nodded. He knew that when they got to the cottage that the kitchen range would be lit, a stew would be bubbling on top, there'd be milk and eggs in the fridge and a fruit cake on the table, courtesy of May, their nearest neighbour. Her taciturn husband Malcolm would have kept the shrubs surrounding the cottage under control. Nick had bought gifts for both of them, as the couple steadfastly refused to accept money for what they did. They'd been close friends of Nick's grandmother, who'd left him the cottage in her will.

They unpacked the car quickly, dumping their rucksacks in the living room and the boxes of food in the kitchen. Stephen plugged their laptops in to recharge as Nick set about brewing tea. They took it outside and sat on the low stone wall overlooking the loch to drink it.

"I'm glad we're here," said Nick quietly.

Stephen nodded, knowing how much Nick loved the small cottage. They were ostensibly there for Nick's study leave – he had a semester off to finish a long-overdue book. Stephen had done a great deal of the research and had also co-written a chapter, but he still wasn't sure how Nick had persuaded the Dean that both of them needed a sabbatical. Not that he was complaining.

Nick slid an arm around his waist. "Time for a walk, then we can come back and get everything sorted and have an early night."

Stephen waggled his eyebrows. "That's an offer I can't refuse."

*~*~*~

The walk partway around the loch took them about 45 minutes. They then sat on a small jetty, arms around each other's waists, watching the sun go down. It was a tradition they'd adopted after their first visit to the cottage together.

"Happy?" asked Nick quietly.

"Very," said Stephen, kissing him on the forehead.

"Good. So am I."

And that was about as demonstrative as they ever got.

*~*~*~

Back at the cottage Nick lit the fire in the living room and set about preparing the evening meal while Stephen lugged the rucksacks upstairs and got the fire going in the bedroom. He pulled the heavy patchwork quilt and duvet back to air the bed, then clumped down the narrow stairs to find Nick serving up the stew. Stephen sliced some bread and rescued a few cans of beer from the fridge. Then they sat down at the battered oak table to eat.

"So what's the plan for tomorrow?" asked Nick, mopping up the remains of his stew with a chunk of home-baked bread.

Stephen shrugged. "Do a couple of hours writing in the morning, then a walk after lunch?"

"Slavedriver!"

"Yes, and your point is …?"

Nick smiled and reached out to squeeze Stephen's hand. "If I didn't have you to look after me, I'd never get anything done."

Stephen smiled, embarrassed. "A piece of fruit cake to go with your post-meal cuppa?"

"You bet," said Nick, getting up to clear the plates away. "Then what do you say to an early night?"

Stephen grinned. "Sounds good to me. Just so long as you're not planning to go straight to sleep …"

Nick's hands explored under his teeshirt, then trailed down the zip of his jeans. "Oh, I thought I'd tell you a bedtime story …"

"With a happy ending?"

"There's always a happy ending."

*~*~*~

Stephen stretched experimentally, wriggling deeper into the striped flannel sheets on the big, old bed. Next to him Nick, propped up on his side, idly traced his finger through the wetness on Stephen's stomach.

"Comfy enough?"

"Oh, I think so …"

"And you're a messy devil."

Stephen grinned. "You know I always come when your cock's up my arse and you're muttering sweet Scottish nothings in my ear!"

"And it's a damn good job that our nearest neighbours are half a mile down the track …"

"I may have to take that as a personal challenge," said Stephen, sliding down the bed and pushing Nick onto his back. He traced his tongue up Nick's thigh, swiping it across the tip of his half-hard cock.

"No chance, laddie. I know when to keep schtum."

"That's not what the dean says …"

"Aye, well, he couldn't find his arse with both hands, a torch and a road map."

"I can find your arse," offered Stephen, his forefinger toying with Nick's hole.

Nick's breathing quickened. "Clever boy."

"Oh, it's how I came to get my PhD …"

"I don't recall this from the viva …" Nick bucked back onto Stephen's finger, suppressing a whimper as a warm mouth engulfed his cock, his fingers clutching the sheets.

Stephen grinned around the bulk in his mouth, swallowing it to the root. Nick growled as Stephen hummed, then let the cock fall from his mouth. It was rock-hard again and Nick's face was flushed with the effort of controlling himself. 

Stephen balanced it on the tip of his forefinger, flicking his thumb across the slit. "So what now? Up my arse again? I'm still sticky from last time. Or do you want to come in my mouth?

Nick's fingers moved to tangle in his hair. He was a considerate and generous lover, but Stephen knew how much he loved to fuck his mouth, spending time afterwards touching and kissing Stephen's swollen lips.

"Breakfast in bed every day this week if I make you yell …"

"No chance, laddie!"

"We'll see …"

Stephen knew exactly what turned Nick on. And he knew, too, what would finish him off. One finger playing with Nick's arse and then a squeeze of his balls guaranteed a yell fit to raise the dead.

"Hmm, a bacon sandwich, I think, with lots of tomato ketchup. And a mug of tea." Stephen sat back on his knees and grinned down at Nick, licking his lips.

Nick opened one eye and gave Stephen the finger. Stephen laughed, nipping at the tip of it. "Well, you promised me a happy ending tonight."

"Aye, I did. So if you want to …"

Stephen kissed his forehead. Nick was a natural top man, but occasionally had paroxysms of guilt about it. Stephen had assured him countless times that he loved being fucked, but he'd learned that it assuaged the Cutter conscience to swap around occasionally.

"Tomorrow night, maybe. We need our beauty sleep if we're going to get that book finished this century."

"Sometimes I wonder why I became an academic," muttered Nick, pulling the patchwork quilt over them. For a man confident in his work, writing books brought out the insecure streak in him.

"Because you'd be a crap train driver, you can't count so accountancy's out, and the thought of you being a diplomat is truly scary … And you know you'll be fine once the book's sent off to the publisher."

"Aye, maybe. And maybe we need a new career …"

"Like what?"

"Oh, I dunno. Chef?"

"You can burn water."

"Landscape gardener?"

"This from the man with six dead cacti in the bathroom."

"Professional footballer?"

"Not even Inverness Caledonian Thistle are desperate enough to sign a dinosaur like you."

"That's it!"

"What?"

"I fancy being a dinosaur hunter."

"You and every small boy in the country," said Stephen. "And I can't say I've ever seen any job ads for one."

"Ach, you've been looking in the wrong place …"

"Very probably. The only T. rex you've ever seen is in your lousy record collection!"

"Cheeky swine. Is this where I mention your Spice Girls mug?"

"I keep telling you, the previous tenant in my flat left it."

"That's what they all say!"

They lay with their arms around each other, watching the fire flickering in the bedroom grate. Outside, an owl hooted.

"Of course, if I become a dinosaur hunter, you'll have to be my intrepid assistant."

"Can I have a big gun?"

"'course you can …" Nick was nearly asleep.

"You know, I like the sound of this change of career …" But Stephen was talking to himself. He curled closer to Nick, mentally planning the structure of the next chapter they needed to write. It looked like dinosaur hunting was gong to have to wait.


End file.
